


Close Range

by signifying_nothing



Category: B.A.P, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, eonnie's famous crossovers, i'm so excited for this you guys you don't even know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-06 08:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10330160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: the ongoing story of how bang yongguk and min yoongi met, fell in love, destroyed one another, figured it out, built one another back up again, and became that couple whose relationship everyone aspires to have, but have no idea about the work that went into it.





	1. the storm's been gone a long time now

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly going to be a bunch of one-shots, out of time order, sorry about that-- the rating will likely change, and there will be rough patches, but don't worry; they've worked it out.

“You'll like him,” Namjoon had promised, back when they'd still been in college. “I promise, you'll like him! Give him five minutes hyung, _five minutes._ ”

“You keep saying these things to me,” Yoongi said, glaring and fidgeting in his large sweater. He'd dressed like a teenager still, even then—skinnies and long sweaters and scarves, slouchy beanies and big-rimmed glasses and a bag that slung across his back. “Five minutes is all he gets, you hear me? Then I'm going home.”

“I _promise,_ ” Namjoon said, in his dark shirt and jeans, his black boots and his stupid eyeliner. He'd dragged—physically dragged—Yoongi into the bar where they were meeting some friends, including Namjoon's beau Jackson, his friend Yugyeom, and Jeongguk, whom Namjoon cheerfully referred to as The Child, a host of other people and... And Bang Yongguk. The TA for Namjoon's modern philosophy course, who dabbled in lyric writing and poetry, who didn't really like to go out aside from underground rap events, who had a deep voice and always dressed well and had dark curly hair and whom Yoongi was going to love, apparently.

...He wanted to be able to say that Namjoon was wrong, sometimes. But. As usual, he'd been perfectly correct. Yoongi spent five minutes—and then that entire night sitting next to Bang Yongguk, three years his senior, and listened to him talk—engaged him in conversation about albums and books and schools of thought they liked, activities they enjoyed (and did not enjoy) and by the end of the night they'd exchanged numbers and arranged to go out on a date the next week.

The dates just never stopped, is all.

They still went out on dates. But most of the time they stay in, keeping one another company in silence until one of them spoke about what they were working on, or reading a meme someone just sent them over twitter. Their friends called them the grandpas, and made fun of them, but Yoongi was still grateful that he and Yongguk had managed to skip over the awkward phase in their relationship to move straight into being elderly and married. It had all been so easy. Yongguk had simply reached over after their sixth dinner, their fifth kiss, and Yoongi, in his eagerness, got up on his toes and kissed him again and dragged him into his studio apartment and it all went, as they said, downhill from there. There had been bumps, of course, but for the most part, it was the most wonderful thing Yoongi'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

“Babe,” Yoongi said, leaning over the back of Yongguk's chair and kissing his temple, his head. “Hey, c'mon, you're falling asleep.”

“Am not,” Yongguk replied. “Resting my eyes.”

“My ass,” Yoongi said, reaching over his chest to take his book from his hands and place it carefully on the shelf beside his older lovers _reading chair_. “Come on, at least get into bed with me, would you. S'cold and I'm lonely. Take care of your _dongsaeng_ or whatever that word is,”

“Aren't you supposed to be taking care of me? I'm the older one, here,” Yongguk asked, getting up to stretch his arms over his head. His spine popped and he groaned, bending to pick up the throw blanket that just dropped to the floor. “Christ I'm sore.”

“Do you wanna bath before bed? Tae just brought over some new stuff from Lush.” Yongguk wrinkled his nose a little at the mention of Taehyung, whom he thought was a little—

“He's weird, you know that, don't you?” Yongguk asked and Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“He humors me and buys me nice things. And that expensive shave lotion or whatever you like so much, so you will be nice to my Weird Rich Son.”

“Mmm,” Yongguk cocked an eyebrow but smiled, reached to take Yoongi's hand. Yoongi squeezed their fingers together and, when Yongguk was close enough he kissed the corner of his mouth, the edge of his smile. “I guess I can be talked into a bath.”

“Good, because I already ran one and if you weren't coming I was going to get in by myself,” Yoongi said, tugging Yongguk along, for once acting like the actual younger half of their relationship. Yongguk had seemed so tired, and his mentorship at the college was wearing on him. He taught there now, as did Namjoon—they worked in the humanities department, teaching ethics and philosophy and sometimes Yoongi was of the opinion that his lover worked too damned hard for not enough money, but then he remembered that not everyone was like him and could do their work in a secluded office alone with their top-of-the-line, personally-built computer with only the occasional lunch meeting to attend.

Yoongi pushed open the door to the bathroom and smiled at the wash of gentle scent. Like Taehyung had suggested, using about a third of a bath bomb, maybe half, was more then enough for him and Yongguk—too much or too heavy a scent gave them headaches. _You're old after all, hyung,_ Taehyung had teased. _You need to take care of your health and that includes your senses._

Yoongi didn't waste time trying to be coy in getting Yongguk undressed. He pushed away his button-down, peeled up the t-shirt he wore underneath. Yongguk's tattoos, the art he had to keep covered for his job, still made a little thrill run through Yoongi as he touched them, watched Yongguk's muscles tighten beneath the contact. “S'time for a new one, isn't it?” he asked, his fingers deftly working open Yongguk's black jeans.

“Almost,” Yongguk nodded, humming tunelessly to himself as he unbuttoned the large shirt Yoongi sometimes wore to bed and laughed when he figured out that Yoongi was, in fact, nude beneath it. “You planned this,” he complained.

“I'd've thought having the bath run already would have given that away,” he said, smiling sweetly and kissing Yongguk's cheek. “Come on, get these pants off.”

“You're so demanding,” Yongguk pointed out, but he took his pants off anyway. Yoongi smiled over at him and waved him towards the tub.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Yoongi smiled a little more as Yongguk bent and as their grins touched, it turned into a kiss. One of Yoongi's hands moved to cup the side of Yongguk's neck, fingers smoothing through his dark hair. “Come on,” he said, motioning to the tub. “Get in, babe.”

Yongguk did as he was told, for once. Yoongi climbed in behind him, instead of in front, and reached to tug his taller (and broader) lover against his chest, kissing his head, cupping water up Yongguk's body with his hands. For a few long minutes they just laid there in the hot water and the steam, Yongguk's head tipped back onto Yoongi's shoulder while the younger man dragged the soft water up Yongguk's chest. Then Yongguk turned his head and kissed Yoongi sweetly on the jaw.

“I'm sorry, Yoongiyah,” he said, his voice low and milk-gold. Yoongi hummed, turned to kiss Yongguk's eyebrow.

“What for,” he asked, perfectly contented, even as Yongguk slumped back into him a little more.

“Needing you so much.”

“If I minded that, I wouldn't have moved in with you, babe,” Yoongi promised, reaching to lace their fingers together. Yongguk got like that, sometimes. Thinking that he was some kind of burden, that he was too much for any one person to handle when his lows were so fucking low and his highs were out past the stratosphere. Yoongi didn't mind. He never had. Not even during that first big argument—the only big argument, really, most of their 'arguments' were petty bickering over who left the stove on or who put the knives blade-down in the knifeblock. That first big argument had been terrifying. It hadn't been Yoongi against Yongguk, it had been Jepp Blackman against Agust D and it had been vicious and cruel, ugly and personal and public and it had ended with neither of them backing down, the definition of alphas in their environment, circling one another.

It had ended with Yoongi's back on the brick and Yoonguk's head against the tar and kisses that had been more like bites and love that had, briefly, turned into a hateful obsession. Yongguk hated needing Yoongi to love him—Yoongi hated wanting Yongguk to love him, and they'd ripped one another to pieces, bare bones, souls exposed. Rap—despite their love of it, the passion they felt on stage, the ability to become someone else—had nearly destroyed anything they had the potential to be, and it was Yoonguk who backed down first but Yoongi was right behind him, reaching for his hand as they went. They'd been getting older and both of them knew, then, a good thing when they had it.

Besides. When they'd stripped one another down to nothing, there hadn't been anything left to hide.

“I know,” Yongguk said, relaxing down into the water, and turning a little to rest on his side, more curled up against Yoongi instead of on top of him. “I know. I just... Want you to know. That I need you. And I love you for staying.”

Yoongi looked down at him—Bang Yongguk, philosopher, poet, mentor. A man whose soul he had ripped open and a man he'd liked, at first—then grown to love enough to learn to compromise. He smiled, bent to kiss Yongguk's face all over—his dark hair, the curls more pronounced with the steam, his cheeks and lips, the end of his nose. “Thanks for letting me stay,” he replied. He'd said some really unforgivable things that night, things that still haunted his nightmares, that made him wake up in a cold sweat feeling for Yongguk's body beside him afraid that the last four years had been a dream, that he would wake up alone in his shitty studio having just ruined his friendship with the one person he...

But it wasn't a dream. It wasn't. Yongguk was here, tucked into his chest and they were kissing, soft and slow and sweet in their bathtub filled with pink-tinged, fragrant water and it was everything he'd ever wanted and more.

“C'mon,” Yoongi hummed. “Water's getting' cold n'I don't wanna get sick.” His accent slurred his words and Yongguk laughed, as he always did, slowly rolling up into a crouch, then standing. He offered his hand to Yoongi, who took it and was pulled up easily, tugged against Yongguk's broader chest.

Yoongi reached up and cupped Yongguk's neck, thumbs on his cheeks. He got up a little and kissed him, sighed when Yongguk pulled him closer and moved to rest his head on Yoongi's shoulder.

“C'mon,” he said again, giving Yongguk one last kiss to the ear. “S'time for bed.” Yongguk groaned but got out of the tub, grabbed for a towel.

“When did we get so old,” he lamented, and Yoongi laughed.

“You're the old one,” he teased, and yelped when Yongguk pinched at his side, at the skin and little bit of softness he'd been developing since leaving college. “Yah!”

“You're only three years younger than me,” Yongguk reminded, offering him a towel. It was electric pink, with nauseating green and yellow splashes of color, and Yoongi wrapped it around his hips without complaint, bending to unplug the tub. “You'll be old soon.”

“I'll always be three years younger than you,” Yoongi sniffed, heading out toward the bedroom, once he was sure his legs wouldn't drip everywhere. He dried off, toweled his hair into damp frizziness and smiled as Yongguk did the same, awash with that disgusting wave of adoration he always felt when he was reminded that he was fucking lucky, that he and Yongguk had chosen one another and that they'd both worked so hard to stay together, to make it work despite their strong personalities because beneath that strength was vulnerability, and it had taken so much to show himself to Yongguk, and he'd been nothing less than honored when Yongguk had done the same.

He climbed into their bed, sighing, and waited for Yongguk to get under the covers before tucking up behind him, wiggling until he was content with how they were spooned together, his arm braced over Yongguk's belly. It was soft, too, just like his own and he had to chuckle for a moment at the vision of the two of them as old men on a porch, rocking back and forth with beer guts and beards and still holding hands like the idiots they were.

“What,” Yongguk asked sleepily.

“Nothing, babe,” Yoongi promised, kissing his neck. “You're off tomorrow, right?”

“Mmm,” Yongguk replied, low and affirmative.

“Okay,” Yoongi kissed the back of his head and settled down. It was likely they'd wake up spooned the other way around but for now he felt protective and strong and wanted nothing more than for Yongguk to feel _protected._ Safe and loved. Tomorrow was Friday, and they'd have the weekend off, and maybe they'd do something—or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they'd go out to a museum, or maybe they'd laze in bed and rewatch their favorite movies. Maybe they'd have slow sex first thing in the morning, or maybe they'd fuck like mad in the kitchen. All those possibilities and more were open to them.

Yoongi smiled, and tightened his arm just a little more. Yongguk made a soft sound in his sleep, and all in their home was quiet, and still.

 


	2. the storm has left a scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yongguk's point of view, in the aftermath of the argument that ripped them apart.

It's been three weeks since that fight. Three weeks since Yongguk has seen Yoongi for more than a few minutes because they'd agreed—tensely, hackles raised—that they needed some time apart from one another. Most of Yongguk's time has been taken up with work—he throws himself into it with more vigor, his new, very new, role as a professor. Namjoon keeps looking at him, but won't ask, and Yongguk is glad because he wouldn't know what to say even if he did.

Something happened, up on that stage. Neither of them had been expecting to end up against one another, both expected to be wiped out in the early rounds but there they were in the semifinals and they were staring at one another like two fucking animals and they'd just...

They'd ripped one another apart.

The problem with being in love with someone is that you've given them so much of yourself, you've given them your heart, and you have to trust that they won't break it.

Yoongi broke Yongguks heart. Threw it to the floor, watched it shatter, stepped on the pieces but to be fair, Yongguk had done the same. He'd watched Yoongi's eyes get wide as he spat rhymes about his self-esteem, about his drug addiction and suicide attempt, about what a bitch he was in bed, and he heard Yoongi rip down his facade in return, to expose the most sensitive points of Yongguks self—how soft he was, how fucking helpless, how he had to be led around like a dog if he expected to behave like a human.

It... It had been fucking horrific. And the crowd had known it, god, they'd known it, fed on it, _enjoyed_ it like the fucking savages they were and Yongguk...

All he really remembers after that is throwing Yoongi against the wall. Yoongi, kicking him to the ground. The two of them beating the fuck out of one another that ended in sex so rough it might have been rape if the two of them hadn't been attacking one another. Snakebites and claws and snarling like animals instead of men, it had been such a fucking disgusting display of primitive behavior that Yongguk still can't think about it without a wash of shame running through him—the look on Yoongi's face, the hate and fear and desperation he was sure mirrored his own expression. How much it had hurt.

It ended just as fast as it began. They'd shoved away from one another, and Yoongi, his voice raw and his lips and chin smeared with saliva and cum, coughing, choking, had managed to hiss that he didn't want to see Yongguk for a while and Yongguk had, teeth bared, agreed.

So here he was. Neither of them had backed down yet. Neither of them have broken down to apologize and Yongguk... It's starting to hurt. To really, really hurt. He finds himself tearing up randomly thinking of how Yoongi had gagged so hard he spat out a foamy string of bile, how Yoongi had grabbed his hair and pushed his cheek to the dirty tarmac. It.. God. Had they really done that? Had they really...

Yongguk drops his head into his hand, his elbow on his desk. He needs to see Yoongi. He need to apologize, he needs to... He needs to quit, is what he needs to do. The choice seems clear enough to him. He can either continue pursuing underground rap activities or he can quit and maybe have a chance at being happy with Yoongi in a place where his persona can't follow. Where Yoongi's persona can't...

Would Yoongi ever give it up? He loves music. He loves performing, loves spitting out rhymes and god he is good at it. He's incredible, if Yongguk is honest, but... Part of Yongguk wishes they could both give it up. He's scared that he will, and Yoongi won't, and he'll be left alone without either of the things he loves. But all it takes is not going to the events. All it takes is not going to the dingy, hot clubs or the warehouses. All it takes is letting it go and if the alternative is to lose Yoongi—what they've managed to build up over the last year—then...

Then he'll give it up. He'd give up almost anything.

He feels his eyes start to sting. Takes deep, slow breaths. He should go home. It's late, he's getting upset, and Namjoon left hours ago, relatively early, like he didn't want to deal with Yongguk's black rain cloud and Yongguk can't blame him. He wouldn't want to deal with himself, either.

He's in the process of pulling his briefcase up onto his chair when there is a knock on the doorframe.

“Office hours are closed,” he says, not looking up. Whoever is in the doorway comes in anyway. “Excuse me—” Yongguk looks up. He doesn't know the man standing there in front of him. He's very handsome, with a sharp nose and soft mouth. He looks like he belongs on a skateboard somewhere. “...Can I help you?”

“Uh,” the man says, looking uncomfortable. “Um. I'm... You're Bang Yongguk, right?”

“Yes,” Yongguk says.

“I'm,” the man sighs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I'm Hoseok, I'm friends with Yoongi. He tried to call you today, but you didn't answer?”

“I've been in classes,” Yongguk replies, honestly. He hasn't even thought about checking his phone.

“Well. He asked me to come and see if it was cos you didn't want to talk to him or something, I dunno. He's down at Le Reine if you wanna go talk to him. He said he'd be there all night.”

“Why isn't he here asking me that,” Yongguk asks, feeling petty and vindictive. The kid shrugs in reply.

“You didn't answer the phone.”

That is true. Yongguk sighs, waves the kid off. “Right. I'll text him in a minute.”

“Kay,” then he's gone, just as quickly as he'd come and Yongguk is left wondering if he _should_ go to Le Reine, the coffee shop down at the end of the street the campus straddles. He wonders if he should try to talk to Yoongi, to... Work things out. He's scared to try. Scared of failing.

He doesn't text Yoongi. He goes anyway.

He wraps himself up in his peacoat and scarf, the mid-November night too cold to go without, and he finds his way to Le Reine, which is near the train stop anyway. He walks inside and orders a coffee before he looks around for Yoongi's easily recognizable form.

He's sitting at a table near the back, hunched over. In a beanie and his bomber jacket and his glasses. He's so beautiful, and Yongguk is so fucking in love that it hurts. He can almost forget that expression three weeks ago. He can almost forget...

He walks to the table. Sits down. Yoongi doesn't look up, just stares down at the drink in his hands. Yongguk is irritated by this. The least Yoongi could do is look at him.

“Well,” Yongguk says. “I'm here. What do you want.”

He doesn't mean for it to come out like that, god, he doesn't—that's not what he meant, it's not what he meant at all. He flinches a little and Yoongi purses his lips and looks up.

God, he looks terrible. His undereye bags—which have always been puffy and dark—are almost purple, so heavy. His eyes are bloodshot and his eyelashes are thin, as are his eyebrows. Yongguk knows Yoongi's eyelashes and brows start to fall out when he's stressed or eating poorly. He feels a twinge of guilt, then remembers that hateful expression.

“I'm sorry,” Yoongi says, without preamble. His voice is rough and nasal, like he's sick, or he's been crying. He doesn't really look at Yongguk, instead looking at the shoulder of his coat, at his lapels. Yongguk can't bring himself to call him on it. Not when he looks so small and ill. “Listen. Listen, Yongguk—” Yongguk hears Yoongi take in a sharp breath, like saying his name hurts. “Hyung.”

“What,” Yongguk asks. He hopes his face isn't giving anything away. Hopes he looks impassive and hard and unforgiving. Something vindictive in him is enjoying the way Yoongi squirms and flinches, no matter how much the rest of him hates it.

“Hyung, I'm sorry.”

“So what,” Yongguk hears himself ask, only barely noting that Yoongi has used the word _hyung_. He usually hates that kind of thing, since he didn't grow up in Korea, or even have parents that spoke Korean regularly like Namjoon did. “I'm sure you didn't say anything you didn't mean.”

“I,” Yoongi starts, trails off. He holds his paper cup a little closer to himself, like it's going to protect him from the white-hot anger Yongguk can feel building up in his stomach. Min Yoongi, making himself out to be the fucking victim here. Sitting in a fucking cafe crying like a fucking kid instead of doing something about his fucking problems.

For a moment Yongguk hates him. He wants to reach across the table and hurt him.

“I fucked up,” Yoongi says. “I fucked up really bad. I know I did. It's my fault, I know it is.”

It is his fault. He'd been the one to start it. Yongguk had just been the one to finish it. Yoongi's always doing that—starting fights he can't finish. Or won't. He's not a fighter. He makes himself out to be one and for a while it was funny, watching him fluff up like an offended bird, watching him spout curses and threats while knowing he would never actually go through with them.

“So what,” Yongguk asks, hating himself for saying it. “It's done, Yoongi. It's over.”

“No, no hyung please, I'm sorry,” Yoongi almost gasps out in panic and Yongguk realizes that Yoongi has misunderstood him. _It's over,_ Yongguk had said, and Yoongi had heard, _We're over._ “I'm sorry, I know I fucked up, I just—I don't have an excuse I know I don't but I didn't mean to let it go that far I shouldn't have—”

Yoongi should have done a lot of things. Thought about what he was doing, and saying. Should have considered the consequences, Yongguk's feelings, their relationship. Should have seen the fucking damage he'd been doing when he opened his mouth and said he could lead Yongguk around like a bitch on a leash.

“No, you shouldn't have,” Yongguk says. It's gratifying to see Yoongi in pain. It pleases some awful little part of himself that doesn't want to forgive the younger man, doesn't want to give him back the power he'd so callously misused.

Then Yongguk remembers that he's to blame, too. He'd said some... Some really horrific things, too. They'd hurt one another, this pain didn't run one way. The look on Yoongi's face when Yongguk had cruelly mimed digging a knife into his wrist and dragging it up his forearm, how he'd made like he was tipping back a bottle of pills or alcohol and how good it had felt in that moment to overpower Yoongi, who was always so strong and stalwart, so unflappable.

It makes him sick to his stomach, now. Knowing he's hurt him so badly. He wonders if Yoongi feels sick, too. He looks like he's going to cry. His brow is furrowed, his lips pursed tightly and his nose wrinkled up. Yongguk hates it. He hates it more than that awful part of him loves it and god, if he has to give up something it's not going to be Yoongi. It's not going to be what they had, what they have the potential to have if they just keep trying.

He reaches for one of Yoongi's hands. Pulls it away from the coffee cup—which is cold beneath his fingers—and holds it. “I shouldn't have, either,” he says, feeling his voice get tight. “Look... You're not the only one who fucked up, Yoongi. It's not all your fault, it's... It's mine, too.” Yoongi isn't looking at him, because he's tipped his head down but Yongguk can see his face screwing up even more, can see that he's biting savagely into his lip. “And it... Look, Yoongi,” he swallows. “Yoongi, look at me.”

Yoongi looks up. He's red-eyed and his lip is being chewed between his teeth and his nose is red and it makes Yongguk miserable.

“Yoongi,” he says. “We've... We've really gotta talk about this, okay. We both fucked up really, really bad but, Yoongiyah,” and Yongguk watches as the tears streak down Yoongi's cheeks. Watches as he cries and plants his free hand over his mouth, as he hunches in on himself to make himself look small. It makes Yongguk feel... Terrible. Like a monster. He forgets that he's older than Yoongi, that Yoongi has never had a relationship like the one the two of them share, something long-term and deep and meaningful and it occurs to him just how scared Yoongi must be. Yongguk, despite his thoughts to the contrary, is willing to try to work things out because his feelings for Yoongi are strong, strong enough that he hadn't decided to quit trying to make it work after what happened at the battle. Yoongi's relationships have always ended during arguments or fizzled out into nothingness while he watched, or at least. That's what he's told Yongguk.

“Yoongiyah,” Yongguk continues. “We've gotta have a real long talk about what happened but for now,” he takes a deep breath, and hopes he isn't making a mistake. “For now lets just... Lets just go home, okay? We don't need to be doing this out... _” in public,_ he doesn't say. He knows Yoongi is, like himself, highly conscious of what happens outside of a private setting. It's part of what makes what happened so fucking awful, was that they both hadn't _cared._

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to get out, his voice tight and small. “Okay hyung.”

He holds Yoongi's hand as they leave. He leads him to the train station and once they get onto the train he stands beside him, holding onto the strap above his head. Yoongi holds on to him, and Yongguk feels a rush of warm protectiveness and, in a moment of idiocy, wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist and pulls him in close.

“I'm sorry,” Yoongi whispers, and it's almost a sob because he starts to shake, his fingers holding on tight to Yongguk's jacket, his face buried into his chest. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Me too,” Yongguk murmurs against his beanie, against his dark hair. They stand like that until the proper stop. They get off the train and Yoongi follows him up to street level, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand and sniffling, coughing. The walk is long and cold but they reach Yongguk's apartment—the third floor of a Queen Anne—within a few minutes and it is warm and cozy and makes Yongguk's nose run with the temperature change.

Yoongi stands in the entryway, after Yongguk has left it. He hasn't bent to unlace his boots, he hasn't taken off his jacket. Yongguk looks at him, hesitates. “Are you coming?” he asks, motioning toward the kitchen, and Yoongi swallows, nods. “I'll go put on some water, then.”

He leaves Yoongi in the foyer and moves to his stove to turn on the kettle. He listens for the soft scuffing of Yoongi's socks on the floor and isn't surprised when Yoongi hugs him from the back, face against his shoulder. Yongguk doesn't say anything. Just listens when Yoongi starts to talk.

“I don't know why I did that,” he says. “I don't know... I didn't mean to, I didn't... It wasn't supposed to be serious, I was just gonna tease you and it... I don't know what happened,” his voice tightens and Yongguk can feel him swallowing. “I don't know _why,_ I didn't wanna hurt you, I didn't wanna hurt you, not even a little.”

“But you did,” Yongguk says, and Yoongi nods, hiccuping miserably.

“I did,” he chokes out, his arms tightening around Yongguk's waist. “I did, n'I'm so sorry hyung, I d... I didn't mean to. N'everyone was fuckin, fuckin' cheering'n'shit n'I just. I fuckin' lost it. S'not an excuse. I shoulda tried harder not ta...” he sniffles heavily, coughs. Yongguk purses his lips and wonders how much he should let Yoongi apologize for.

“I shoulda tried harder not ta be a fucking asshole.”

That's enough.

That's enough, there's only one time Yongguk has heard Yoongi refer to anyone as a _fucking asshole_ and he'd been talking about his dad and that is _enough._ He turns around in Yoongi's grip and pulls him in tight, cheek to his hair. He feels Yoongi shiver and closes his eyes.

“I was wrong, too,” he says, easily, knowing it's true. “I should stepped down when I saw you get up there, Yoongi, I know what a jerk I can be when I'm on stage, I should have stepped down. But it's over. We did it and it was awful and we hurt each other but—Yoongi,” he gently tilts Yoongi's head up to look at him. Sees the closed expression of someone who doesn't dare even hopes for the best. “Yoongi, look, if... If I didn't want to be with you, if I... Didn't want to try and work it out, I wouldn't have gone to that cafe. I'd have ignored what your friend told me and I'd have let you sit there by yourself till the place closed. Yoongi, if I have to choose between an underground rap career and you. What we have, what we _can_ have,” he cups Yoongi's cheeks, looks at him very, very seriously. “I'm going to choose you, every time.”

Yoongi's face crumples and Yongguk hugs him tight, rocks their bodies a little as Yoongi cries like a little kid, huge gulping sobs and apologies and promises to do better, to try harder. It takes everything in Yongguk not to cry, too, because it... It's the truth. He's old enough to know, now—there are some things you can give up, and other things you have to work hard to keep and what they have is so, so worth fighting for. Yoongi's early-morning macchiatos made with the machine worth more than anything else in his shitty studio, the smell of his clean t-shirts and his bedsheets, the smoothness of his skin. The force of his kisses, the depth of his love. People make mistakes. People fuck up. They both fucked up.

A career in rap might have been his priority once. But he's older now, he has a career, a job at the university and Yoongi... Yoongi is his priority now. Somehow he's weaseled his way in and Yongguk is okay with that. Loves it, even.

“I'll do better,” Yoongi promises, when his breath comes back into his lungs. “I'll try harder hyung, I promise.”

“Don't call me hyung,” Yongguk murmurs, kissing Yoongi's dark hair. “I like it better when you use my name.”

“I'll try harder, Yongguk,” Yoongi repeats, looking up at him through red, bloodshot eyes, his nose pink and his lips raw. “I'll try harder. I promise I will.”

“I will too,” Yongguk replies, and he feels something like a balm settle over them. The promise has... It hasn't healed what they've torn apart, not yet. But it represents the agreement to try and make it work because what they can have is so much better than being without, no matter the rewards.

That night, after they've had tea and a bath and shared long, wet kisses, Yoongi lays him down and makes love to him, rocking between his legs, holding his head in his hands and kissing him until their lips hurt, moving until Yongguk's back rises off the bed and his head tips back and then Yoongi reaches down to touch him, to bring him over the edge and into sleep with him.

Yongguk wakes up sometime in the middle of the night to Yoongi spooned up tight to his back, arm around his waist like he's holding on for dear life. Maybe he is. Yongguk reaches down to lace their fingers together. Maybe Yoongi's hold on for dear life.

Maybe they both are.

 


	3. it's all so quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi doesn't dare call what he's feeling love—not yet—but holy fuck he's so close. So damned close and it scares him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoongi's pov, the morning after~

Yoongi wakes up in his bed and he is not alone.

_Yongguk._

Right. He'd pulled him into the studio the night before, heedless of his mess, and they'd... Well. If the soreness of his thighs was any indication, they'd had a really, really good time. He smiles, turns over and gets up onto his elbow. Yongguk is on his stomach, his eyes closed, one hand tucked up close to his mouth as he sleeps. God, he's beautiful. His hair is so blonde it's almost white, and his natural curls are falling all over his face. Yoongi bends to kiss his cheek, smiles a little more when Yongguk makes a soft noise and burrows in a little closer.

He likes it, being the one to tuck Yongguk in close to him like this. Normally... Well. In the few, terrible relationships he's had before this one—he's the one being pulled in and swamped, overpowered. Not that it's his goal to overpower Yongguk. He just... Wants to hold him like this. Be the protective one, for once, instead of the protected.

He rests his cheek in Yongguk's hair, smells sweat and shampoo and the last of his cologne. It's so nice. It feels so good. _So_ good.

When he wakes up again, it's because Yongguk is kissing his collarbones from where he's still pressed against Yoongi's chest. His soft, plump lips are kissing across the sharp angle and up his throat and Yoongi sighs, tightens his hand on Yongguk's side.

“Morning,” Yongguk murmurs, somewhere close to his ear.

“Mmm,” Yoongi replies, shivering violently. “Morning.”

“How you feelin',” Yongguk asks, and Yoongi hums a grin, teases his nails across Yongguk's side.

“Real good,” he promises. He pushes up—Yongguk rolls onto his back and Yoongi is half on top of him, one thigh thrown over his lap. He can feel how hard Yongguk is. Aah, morning wood. It's a killer. He stretches up to kiss his face and grins when Yongguk hisses in a breath. “M'feelin' real damn good.”

“Good,” Yongguk says, almost pants, as Yoongi slowly shifts his weight and gets up on top of him, straddling one thigh, body covered with the blankets. “Mm.”

“Feels good?” Yoongi asks, and Yongguk nods, licking his lips, sighing, relaxing back into the pillows like a princess waiting to be ravaged. Yoongi leans in, bites his lip. “Wanna feel better?”

“Mm, if by better you mean you're gonna fuck me senseless,” Yongguk murmurs, and Yoongi grins.

“I can do that,” he says, smartly, and Yongguk relaxes, somehow. The last little bit of tension leaks away and Yoongi has the distinct feeling he's passed some kind of test. “I wanna do that.”

“So do it,” Yongguk says, and Yoongi gets up, stretches for the lubricant—still sitting on the bedside table—and snatches it up. He stays under the blankets, wiggles down between Yongguk's legs and runs a hand down his belly, over his hip and on the inside of his thighs, watching him arch, hearing him hiss and groan out his name. Oh, that's so nice. Hearing that. He squeezes lube into his hand, leaves it in his palm to heat it up. No one likes cold lube.

Bending down to Yongguk's bared chest, Yoongi kisses what skin he can reach while his fingers tease down past Yongguk's heavy ballsac, giving it a short squeeze before sliding down to rub at his rim. Yongguk groans and his back arches up and Yoongi can't help but be memorized by it. Here he is, Bang Yongguk, laid out beneath him and so fucking beautiful it hurts, opening his thighs, holding his legs beneath the knees while rushes of chill air slide under the blankets and make Yoongi's skin break out in goosebumps. He carefully, very carefully, pushes his finger inside. Yongguk is warm and soft inside, the tight squeeze punctuated by his little gasped intake of breath.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi whispers, looking down. Yongguk's cock is hard, hard and leaking, and he bends down to suck softly at the tip, tonguing it, using his free hand to hold the shaft while he fucks his finger into Yongguk's body, sliding his mouth down when he adds a second. Yongguk jerks his hips, his head knocks back into the pillows as he curses, loudly.

“Fuck, holy fuck that feels good,” he pants, and Yoongi wonders how long it's been since Yongguk got properly sexed up, how long it's been since someone took his wants into consideration. Yongguk is tall and pretty broad, he's got a strong personality and he's sure that most dudes find that attractive in a top—just like most people assume he's going to be the one taking it, instead of giving.

Yoongi lets himself make a gross slurping noise as he pulls up and lets his tongue curl around Yongguk's tip, tasting it, enjoying the smell and the heat building up under the blanket as he fucks Yongguk with two fingers. Then—when he's sure Yongguk is watching him—he pushes his head down, and his fingers forward, until his nose is pressed into Yongguk's short hairs and his fingers are in to the knuckle, wiggling them carefully and trying not to choke until Yongguk snarls, jerks his hips up and Yoongi has to pull up, gasping, thick saliva filling his mouth. Thick and warm and he pushes his head back down, pulling his fingers away before adding a third and bobbing his head up and down, up and down, all the way down.

“Shit, ho—holy shit, Yoongi that's so good, god,” Yongguk is trembling, and Yoonguk pulls up again, the spit somewhat frothy now from the repetitive fucking past his gag reflex. He relaxes his jaw and uses his free hand to guide Yongguk's hips into pushing up, takes one of Yongguk's hands to twist it in his own hair. He pulls up, just long enough to grin as he wiggles his fingers.

“Fuck my throat,” he says, and Yongguk stares at him for a moment, before he nods and starts to lift his hips, pushing up into Yoongi's throat, down onto his fingers. There's a nasty, sucking sound every time his dick pulls out, a wet squelch as Yoongi's fingers press in, and Yongguk tightens his fingers in Yoongi's hair, pulls, heaves for air when Yoongi adds more lubricant, pushes his fingers in as far as he can and leaves them there, following Yongguk's hips as they move up and down.

“Shit, shit stop, m'gonna cum,” Yongguk protests, pulling harder on Yoongi's hair to try and get him off his cock with no success at all. “Yoongi, fuck, I—”

His tip is pushing past Yoongi's gag reflex when he cums—it's thick and bitter and Yoongi fucking loves it, god he loves sucking cock, it feels so good, makes him feel powerful and shivery and in control. He continues to bob his head despite the saliva and the semen leaking down around his lips until Yongguk is whimpering a little, pulling him up with both hands. Yoongi manages to spit most of the slickness from his mouth and throat into his hand as he slides his fingers free of Yongguk's body, wraps that hand around his cock, slicking himself up.

“Shit,” Yongguk is panting, kissing feverishly over Yoongi's neck. “Shit, babe, get your dick in me,” Yoongi shivers, still kissing Yongguk as he fumbles, blindly, until his tip finds the raw, stretched rim of his ass and gives a light push. Yongguk groans, the sound throaty and thick, and Yoongi keeps pushing, using both hands to roll Yongguk's body up to settle on his thighs until he's all the way in, balls to skin, and panting hard, dropping his head to Yongguk's chest. Yongguk's fingers rake through his hair, blunt nails on his scalp.

“Oh fuck, babe,” he breathes, his entire body shivering, hips near trembling until he calms down enough for Yoongi to rock forward. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Feels so good,” Yoongi whispers, kissing Yongguk's chest, his neck, his jaw and his fat pink lips, biting them, sucking at them while Yongguk wraps his arms around Yoongi's shoulders and holds on. “Yongguk.” He can feel that his older lover's cock is soft between their bellies, but Yongguk is twisting and squirming and panting for air, trying to find leverage to fuck himself down Yoongi's hips and it's the hottest thing Yoongi has ever seen in his life but it's not what he wants. “Relax, babe,” he breathes, kissing the soft spot just under Yongguk's jaw, sucking at it. “Lemme take care'a you.”

Yongguk makes a tiny little sound, almost helpless, and lays back onto the bed, pushing his arms up over his head and trying to breathe a little more deeply. Yoongi stares at him, at the spectacle he makes, and groans, reaching, pushing his hands up Yongguk's arms to find his hands and hold them as he starts to thrust, slow and deep.

“Shit,” Yongguk pants, squeezing Yoongi's fingers, belly tense and quivering every time Yoongi's stomach presses down to his groin. “Oh sh, shit, Yoongi that—god, fuck me like that, s'so good,” Yoongi kisses him, kisses his lips and licks their tongues together, presses his forehead to Yongguk's cheek and pants against his neck and relishes in how close they are, in how good it feels, sweaty skin and slick touches and it's perfect, god, it really is.

“Babe,” he pants, almost breathless, licking Yongguks neck and kissing it, trying to thrust but not move too far, god he doesn't want to move away, doesn't want to pull away from him so he just rocks, thrusts shallow and feels Yongguk's thighs tighten around his body. “Shit.”

“Feels good,” Yongguk breathes, and his arms pull Yoongi down, hold him, and Yoongi just... he holds very still for a moment, shifts up and curls their bodies together, closer, closer still. His hands slide under Yongguks broader shoulders and cup his head. He holds him and kisses him and hikes one leg up, closer, gives himself the leverage to thrust slow and deep. “Oh, Yoongiyah, that feels so good.”

Maybe it's the way he says _Yoongiyah._ The term of endearment is something he understands from Namjoon, and somehow—somehow, Yongguk saying it, calling him something like that when they're so close together is just too much.

Yoongi feels heat coiling in his lower belly, feels it racing up his legs as he struggles to keep pace, to keep steady—and when he can't stop, when he can't keep himself from it anymore he pushes so close. When he cums he pulls on Yongguk's hair and hears him sigh, whisper his name, feels his lips on his neck.

It's just as good as last night. Better, even. They're still under the covers and Yongguk is cradling his head and shoulders and Yoongi just wants to stay like this forever. He wants to stay this way.

“Yongguk,” he whimpers, soft and almost helpless. “Babe. Oh god.”

“Mmm,” Yongguk hums underneath him, traces fingers through his hair. Yoongi doesn't dare call what he's feeling love—not yet—but holy fuck he's so close. So damned close and it scares him.

In the best possible way.

 


	4. in front of the pissing cherub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He likes that, at the end of the first museum, Yoongi has no problem sitting next to him and leaning into his shoulder and _pouting_ like a small child until Yongguk hugs an arm around him and kisses all over his face until his pout becomes a smile that becomes giggles when Yongguk starts poking him with his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains the death of a parent and sibling tension that is not good.   
> and a pissing cherub.

“Yongguk!”

“Mrf.”

“Bang Yongguk _get up right now,_ ”

“Why,” Yongguk groans and pulls the blankets back over his head. It's _Saturday._ They have no reason to be awake.

“Because _you,_ in all your infinite wisdom, told _Kim Namjoon_ that we're gonna go out ta th'galleries today and if I gotta get up and look presentable, _so do you._ ”

...Ah, right. Shit.

Yongguk pushes up out of bed and yawns, stretches his arms over his head. Yoongi is already moving around the room like a dragonfly, flitting, wearing a cobalt blue oxford and dark jeans. He enjoys the view as Yoongi bends down to pick up his black-on-black creepers, whistling smartly. Yoongi fixes him with a glare over his shoulder.

“What,” he asks, voice throaty as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “It's a nice butt.”

“You're a tool,” Yoongi replies.

“I don't hear you complaining, usually,”

“Yeah, well, usually you don't tell my friends that we're gonna meet'em at _ten_ at a gall'ry halfway 'cross town on a Sat'aday. It's a' _day off,_ Yongguk!” Yoongi is whining and it's _so_ cute. He has this weird lilt in his accent from living in Boston for most of his life; he's constantly losing consonants and full syllables from words especially when he's tired and annoyed. Yongguk snickers and gets up to take a quick shower, gives Yoongi's (very small, very cute) ass a pinch as he walks by.

“I'll make it up to you when we get home,” he promises, and Yoongi glares up at him, though there's a hint of his smile there, mischievous and fae.

“You better. Now go'n get _dressed,_ it's almost nine n'we gotta get goin'.”

“Yeah babe,” Yongguk laughs, closing the bathroom door.

He is decidedly not amused when the water in the shower runs cool after about three minutes under the stream. He thinks Yoongi is a bit of a shit for laughing so hard when Yongguk shouts in surprise.

~

Yongguk likes the galleries. He enjoys being out with Namjoon and Jackson, he enjoys drinking iced green tea and he even kind of likes listening to Yoongi bitch about walking around all day in his heavy shoes, even though he constantly reminds him that he's the one who chose to wear his creepers.

He likes that, at the end of the first museum, Yoongi has no problem sitting next to him and leaning into his shoulder and _pouting_ like a small child until Yongguk hugs an arm around him and kisses all over his face until his pout becomes a smile that becomes giggles when Yongguk starts poking him with his tongue.

“Gross!” Yoongi accuses, laughing and clearly not all that opposed. “ _Gross,_ Yongguk!”

“You don't complain about my tongue poking you in other places,” Yongguk says, and Yoongi hits him in the thigh while Jackson lets out a guffaw and covers his mouth in a pretty poor attempt to quiet himself.

“We don't need to know about your sex life, guys,” Namjoon rolls his eyes and Jackson waggles his eyebrows.

“Everyone else might, though, so by all means,”

Namjoon elbows Jackson in the side, without much force. “Stop encouraging them.”

“I'm doing _no such thing._ ”

Yongguk smiles and Yoongi leans into him and Yongguk hugs his arm around his shoulders, feels Yoongi holding on to his waist. They haven't... Made it official yet, the whole, maybe getting married thing. But they moved in together last year and now Yongguk has been hunting around for something appropriate. He really... Is pretty sure he wants to marry Yoongi. Pretty sure.

When they get home—finally, after six, Yoongi is whiney and childish and complaining about how much his legs hurt and Yongguk just smiles, hefts him up against his chest and carries him to the bathroom, where they get into a bath together and lay still until Yoongi is nearly asleep.

Yeah. Yongguk's pretty sure he wants to marry Yoongi. Whining, complaining, temper tantrums and all. After all—Yoongi puts up with all of _his_ whining, complaining and temper tantrums. And at the end of the day the two of them are there to support one another, to... To laugh when one of them trips or when the other bangs his head on the car door frame, to kiss bandaids on papercuts and take away the bottle of wine when it stops being fun and starts being sad.

Yongguk is going to buy Min Yoongi a ring.

He's going to marry him.

~

The day he finally brings home the ring, Yoongi is home early, laying in their bed. He's curled up and crying and hidden completely under the blankets, head and all and Yongguk freezes in the doorway, trying to figure out what the hell could make Yoongi cry like that, loud and heaving, almost hysterical. Miserable.

He sees that the bedside phone is off the hook, and he makes his way closer, trying to make sure he's heard.

“Yoongiyah?” he asks, trying not to sound afraid. “Yoongiyah? Baby what's wrong?”

He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls back the covers. Yoongi has his face half-buried in one bent arm and his visible cheek is red. His mouth is red, his eyes are red and wet and he's _sobbing,_ great intakes of breath with miserable moans pushing out. Yongguk can feel his alarm ramping up, can feel himself starting to panic and fights it down. “Yoongi, what's—baby what's wrong, are you hurt?”

The last time he can remember Yoongi crying so hard is when his appendix burst. But Yoongi doesn't say anything, just... Sits up and throws himself at Yongguk and _clings_ to him, wailing into his chest that it's not fair, it's not fair. He should have had more time, he should have apologized to him, should have tried harder to make it up to him, he should have told him he was sorry for being a worthless faggot—

It strikes Yongguk, then, that Yoongi's father is dead.

So he just holds him, rocks him back and forth and listens to him weep and hiccup and scream until there's no energy left in him at all and he just lays there, holding onto Yongguk and shivering, holding him so tight Yongguk's shirt is straining at the seams.

“My dad,” he finally whispers, whimpers, eyes welling and overflowing miserably, lip and chin trembling, throat shuddering. Yongguk has only ever heard Yoongi refer to his father as a _fucking asshole._ He's never heard Yoongi call him _dad._ “My dad's dead,” and he drops his head to Yongguk's shoulder. “I, I thought I h-had mu-more _time_.” Yoongi cries until he's asleep, and still.

The ring sits, forgotten, in Yongguk's jacket pocket.

~

Yoongi brings Yongguk with him to Boston. Or rather, Yongguk insists on going with him. Yoongi can't face his family alone, and even if they hate the two of them, at least the burden will be halved. They go to the funeral home in dark suits. Yoongi has dyed his hair back to black instead of the frosty pink it's been for the last eight months or so and Yongguk makes sure to let his hair dry naturally, instead of putting any styling product in it. Yoongi's extended family clearly doesn't think much of him. Almost none of them come to talk to him, and when he puts down the bundle of flowers—purple hyacinth, their blossoms muted to lavender—Yongguk hears him whisper, despondent and heartbroken, _rest in peace you heartless bastard._

They leave the funeral home without much ceremony. Yoongi's said what he needs to, and has already told Yongguk that they're not staying for the burial. They're holding hands on their way to the car when someone shouts Yoongi's name, and he freezes, swallows hard.

“Yoongi—god, I didn't even see you in there, jeeze,”

“What do you want,” he asks, turning only enough to look. Yongguk, on the other hand, looks openly at the man. Older than Yoongi, taller, but with the same sort of face, dark hair, soft nose. “What do you _want,_ Yoonhyun.” The man looks at Yoongi and Yongguk fancies he sees regret in his expression.

“Listen,” he says, his voice rich with the Boston accent Yoongi tries so hard to hide. “Um. I know you're not staying, but. D'you... If you need anything, Yoongi.”

“Fuck off,” Yoongi hisses, venomously. Yongguk is surprised at just how much _hate_ there is in Yoongi's voice. “Fuck off, who do you think you are. Who the fuck are _you_ to say that shit to me, huh? What, now that Dad's dead you're not scared to fucking associate with me? You ain't scared to talk to me in public because _god forbid_ you catch my disease?”

“ _Yoongi,_ ” the man says, clearly distressed. “Yoongi you _know_ it's not like that—”

“Yeah? Well how is it any fucking different, Yoonhyun, you tell me. You _abandoned me._ ”

“You didn't want me there, Yoongi,” Yoonhyun hisses, and Yongguk feels Yoongi shudder all over. “I tried, you know I tried and you just wouldn't _leave._ Don't you blame me for your bad decisions. I tried to stop you from making them and you didn't listen to me.”

“Fuck you,” Yoongi says, and his voice shakes. Yongguk takes this as his cue to step between the brothers, shielding Yoongi, who is going to cry.

“I think that's enough for now,” he says, trying to be reasonable. They're both mourning, emotions are high and tense, and this is no time to be having what seems to be an important conversation. “Please call him later. I'm going to take him home, now.”

Yoonhyun works his jaw, but he seems more sensible than Yoongi. He nods, and offers out a card to Yongguk. It has his contact information on it, and Yongguk nods in thanks for his consideration. It's Yoonhyun who turns away first, to head back into the funeral parlor. Yoongi manages to hold it together until they get to the rental car, but then he bends over himself and breathes heavily into his thighs, his hands clenching the seat. Yongguk can see that he's crying, but he doesn't say anything about it. He just drives them back to their hotel room and walks Yoongi upstairs. He takes his hand and guides him through the motions of getting undressed, taking a shower, climbing into the bed. It's not their bed at home, but it will have to do when Yoongi turns in his arms and clings to him, struggles to pull Yongguk's greater weight on top of him.

“Please,” he whispers, voice ragged. “Please, Yongguk.”

“When we get home,” Yongguk promises, thumbing away Yoongi's tears. “When we get home, baby, I promise. But not now.” Yoongi hiccups and says he hates him, but he doesn't try anything else. Just settles in against his chest and holds on tight. Yongguk kisses his hair, and hopes he's going to be okay.

~

Four days after they get back, on a rainy Sunday morning, Yongguk lays Yoongi down on his belly. He sits on his thighs and massages his neck, his shoulders and back. He rubs the tension out of Yoongi's arms and thighs, listens to his groans of relief turn into moans of pleasure and he grabs a pillow to push under Yoongi's body, lifting his hips and continuing to knead away the stress. He works Yoongi's calves, his feet. Slides back up to thumb the cheeks of his tiny backside, stroking over his rim before eventually putting pressure, though not pushing in. Yoongi moans in protest and Yongguk laughs, bending to kiss his back in all the places that make Yoongi squirm uncontrollably. He reaches into their toybox for lubricant and a prostate massager and slowly, carefully, he works it into Yoongi's body. The large ring keeps it trapped right where he wants it, and Yongguk gives it a gentle tug before turning Yoongi over.

His lover is blushed and panting, the tip of his erection is wet and pink and Yongguk bends down to suck it into his mouth, one hand on Yoongi's thigh as he jerks a little and rides his hips up and down on the pillow. He feels Yoongi tense, listens to his quiet little mewls turn into words.

“Yongguk Yongguk baby please it—m'gonna cum, don't—want—”

But Yongguk gives the prostate massager a little twist and Yoongi's thighs snap apart then squeeze closed, his back arching up, entire body giving a wave, trying to make it last. Yongguk rubs the toy over and over until Yoongi is whimpering, begging him to stop _please please fuck me i need you please yongguk i need you._

He eases the toy away. Strokes lubrication over himself and pushes, slowly, into Yoongi's trembling and overstimulated body. Yoongi whimpers, reaches to hold him. This is the position they take when they want to feel loved. This is the position where Yongguk can slide his hands up under Yoongi's shoulders and massage his scalp, kiss his face, whisper into his ear.

“Love you, baby,” he murmurs, pushed all the way in with Yoongi's heels digging into the insides of his thighs, their bodies tangled. “Love you so much. Wanna take care of you, sweetheart,” he kisses Yoongi's lips, the bridge of his nose when Yoongi whimpers in embarrassment and pleasure. He makes slow love until Yoongi is hard, his entire body near sparking, giving anxious little twitches of overstimulation. He sits up and watches Yoongi tremble, takes a strange kind of joy like he always does in Yoongis powerlessness, in the trust he's showing.

With one hand, he grabs for their small stroker. It fits in his hand, textured on the inside and he pours lubricant into it, makes sure Yoongi is looking at him as he brings it down over his cock and gives a light tug. Yoongi's stomach tenses so hard his shoulders lift from the bed and Yongguk pulls it away. Yoongi drops.

He does it again. Again, over and over until Yoongi is shaking and jerking and clenching up around him, so close to orgasm that Yongguk can almost feel it ripping up his legs, and he pulls the toy away. Yoongi whines in frustration, twisting against the bed, fisting their sheets in his hands.

“ _Yongguk,_ ” he groans, his dick twitching. “Don't. _Stop teasing me._ ”

“Don't stop teasing you?” Yongguk asks, sliding the stroker down and off and smiling when Yoongi shrieks and sits up to hit his chest, hard, with one fist. “Don't hit me.”

“Don't _tease me,_ ” Yoongi falls back to the bed and sniffs a little. “It hurts.”

“Does it?” Yongguk moves to set the stroker aside, and Yoongi shakes his head.

“Not bad. Just. Just need it so bad, babe, please?”

Yongguk smiles. Bends down far enough that he can hold the stroker between their bellies and thrust deep and slow, just how Yoongi likes it. Pulling almost all the way out, pushing back in, rocking his cock into the toy. Eventually he can move his hand away to hold Yoongi's hip and Yoongi thrusts into the stroker, his tip sliding against Yongguk's belly until he's jerking, clawing his fingers into Yongguk's shoulder and panting out that _it hurts, oh god so good m'gunna cum fuck babe m'c—_

Yongguk feels Yoongi cum, thrusts hard twice before holding still, groaning into his lover's neck, pressing deep into him. Yoongi is gasping for air, thighs shaking until his hypertense body drops to the bed and he can do nothing but shiver, holding on to Yongguk like some kind of baby sloth, arms and legs all hooked around him. Yongguk lowers himself. Pulls Yoongi's leg up over his hip as they lay on their sides. He pulls out slow, listens to the sound Yoongi makes when he's empty, when he's so satisfied he's boneless.

“Love you so much,” Yoongi whispers, his lips in Yongguk's dark hair. “God I fuckin' love you.”

“Love you too,” Yongguk promises, sucking softly at Yoongi's neck, feeling him shiver. “Love you too. So much, Yoongiyah.”

The ring sits in Yongguk's dresser draw for another three months.

~

Three months later, they're out with Namjoon and Jackson, Jeongguk and Yugyeom and a bunch of their other friends, who are all loud and boisterous, maybe a little moreso than usual. Yoongi is in an exceptionally good mood. He's been so much better, he's _felt_ so much better than he has the last few months and on their way home, Yongguk walks them past the rainbow-lit fountain that makes Yoongi laugh because one of the statues in it is a cherub pissing and every time he sees it he starts giggling like a twelve year old. It's one of his most beautiful expressions, and he's making it when Yongguk takes his hands.

“Baby?” Yongguk asks, and Yoongi blinks at him, clearly confused.

“Yeah?” he replies, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“You know I love you, right?”

“...Yeah,” Yoongi says, sounding anxious. “I know that.”

“N'you know... You know I'd do anything for you, right?” Yongguk can feel himself getting too nervous to talk and knows he's gotta wrap this up fast before he gets too nervous to say anything at all.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, a little more confidently. “Yeah, I know that too, babe.”

“I just... Wanna be able to keep. Doin' anything for you,” Yongguk says, and he thinks about how much better this sounded in his head, how much less clumsy, but he's never really been the suave type. “Like... Forever.”

“Forever?” Yoongi asks, and Yongguk wonders how it's possible for someone to be so damned thick in the head.

“Like, _till death do us part,_ forever.”

And Yoongi's eyes open up wide. He's staring hard at Yongguk as Yongguk fumbles in his pocket. Drops the box, like an idiot, and crouches to get it. He's starting to get up when he realizes that Yoongi's left hand is in front of his face. He looks up his arm and sees that Yoongi's eyes are so big and his lips are open just a little and he looks like he's going to start vibrating with joy.

So Yongguk shifts his position to be on one knee, even though he hadn't wanted to be stereotypical about this. He opens the box. He slides the ring onto Yoongi's left ring finger and when he stands up Yoongi is all gummy smile and happy laughter and _yes yes yes yes_ in his ear, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his shoulders.

The whooping and hollering and wolf whistles from their friends (who followed them, knowing his intentions, and recorded every minute Yongguk is sure) just makes Yoongi laugh harder and Yongguk puts him down, unable to stop smiling even when Yoongi punches him in the shoulder.

“In front of the _pissing cherub_ Bang Yongguk, I hate you so much, you're, you're supposed to _drop hints_ or something you, you stupid, _stupid_ jerk,” but they kiss again, and they're laughing, and Yongguk has never been so fucking happy in all his life as he is in that moment, lifting Yoongi from the ground even when he squawks in protest, even when Jackson shouts between giggles that they need to get a room.

Yoongi said yes.

Yoongi said _yes._

 

 

 


End file.
